The Lark of Vernon
by AMarguerite
Summary: Fantine finds work at the dragon breeding grounds of Vernon, with the help of General Georges Pontmercy and his dragon Hyacinthe.


The initial ideas for this came from simplyirenic and cinead. I've hopefully avoided all the things cinead wrote about here: post/78143644801/simplyirenic-simplyirenic-no. A lot of the logistics of aviator training and policy comes from ideas worked out with tenlittlebullets, and vouksen was the first person to suggest a dragon Valjean. My very many thanks to Pip for beta-reading, as usual. I'm not sure who wrote the tumblr post months ago about Georges Pontmercy being mixed race, but if it was you, let me know and I will credit you!

* * *

On the long flight back from Paris to Vernon, Georges noticed Hyacinthe tiring. It was still a painful realization. With a Grand Chevalier one was so used to seeing such bulk, such mass, that it seemed impossible that anything could defeat so formidable a creature. But time and old injuries had killed many a formidable veteran, and had limited many more. Georges increasingly felt old injuries, not in pain, but in a stiff unpleasantness, an unhappy and sudden realization of his own mortality. He put a hand to Hyacinthe's neck and with the other raised his speaking trumpet.

"My dear," he called. "My leg is paining me. Perhaps we might land so I might stretch it."

Hyacinthe immediately began the descent saying, with some relief, "Oh, of course Georges! How stupid of me not to have thought of it. To tell you the truth, the shattered ball under my wing joint has been bothering me again, and I would fain rest it before we flew the rest of the way to the breeding grounds."

It was more than the ball under his wing joint from Mont-Palissel (Georges had also broken his arm from a ball in the same battle). It was the burns from a Kaslisk dragon during the invasion of Britain, it was splinters from Arnay-Le-Duc and Austerlitz, it was the lingering damage of starvation rations and battles from the Russian campaign, it was the innumerable slashes and balls and burns and cuts from Waterloo. Georges looked at the scarred membranes of Hyacinthe's wings. Hyacinthe had been mercilessly set upon at Waterloo. It sometimes pained Georges to think of how painful the flight to Paris must be. He ventured to approach the subject, but Hyacinthe cut him off with, "That is utter rot, Georges, and you know it! It is only eighty kilometers. I would fly eight hundred to see your hatchling. If it hadn't been for Waterloo, he would have been my captain and you would be resting now with all your flowers."

Georges said something vague into Hyacinthe's deaf ear, injured by the divine wind deployed at Waterloo.

Hyacinthe did not like to acknowledge the many wounds he had received in service of France and said in reply, "Yes, you are quite right, it is a pity we cannot get closer, but you can see him very well from your telescope and my eyes are not so bad that I cannot see him. A fine boy, he must be two or three centimeters taller than he was last week."

As Georges made no reply, Hyacinthe hastily changed the subject, "We are quite near Monsieur Shang's restaurant, are we not? Perhaps we may have our lunch there."

They could now see the road. Georges called, "Yes- it is but half a mile, we can walk the rest of the distance."

The trees lining the avenues on each side seemed to rise to meet them. The road was mostly deserted, save for a farmer with a cart some meters distant, and a woman with a child. Georges always took care when landing; Grand Chevaliers had pale underbellies and it was near impossible to see them above. The lady below certainly didn't. She continued on her slow path, pausing only to pick up her child.

"Ware of the lady-"

"And the hatchling!" cried Hyachinthe, roused to good humor. "Oh it is so very newly out of the egg, pray let us stop and speak to it, Georges. I do so love hatchlings."

Georges called out a warning to the lady below.

She looked up, unable to hear his words, only to make out the tones of his voice, and immediately ran out of the way, clutching her child to her chest.

"We mean you no harm!" cried Georges, once they had landed. He unhooked his carabiner and slid down Hyacinthe's side. Georges knew himself to be no very reassuring sight- his face nearly black, his hair streaked with gray, a large scar on his forehead which ran down upon his cheek, his figure bowed, bent, prematurely aged, his black leather flying coat much battered- but he smiled and said in his friendliest accents, "Do not be alarmed, Madame, we are on our way to the breeding grounds at Vernon and wished merely to rest."

The woman stood on the opposite side of the road, rigid with fear.

"May I see your hatchling?" asked Hyacinthe eagerly. "I have sired many eggs in my day and Georges too has been a sire, though only once, and his only egg was taken from him before it was out of the shell. Is your hatchling friendly?"

The woman was understandably confused as to why an enormous dragon was talking about her child as if her daughter were in fact a dog the dragon wished to pet, but she had grown up during the revolution and empire and was used to dragons. She made a jerky reverence. "I- she has not been well."

Hyacinthe leaned down on his front legs, his head on the ground, as a cat stretched. He assured her, eagerly, "Oh, but we mean only to look, then, pray will you allow it? Though," he added, with a flash of self-consciousness, "I have nearly two centuries to my hide, I cannot move as easily as I once did; you will have to bring the hatchling here."

The woman approached. Georges was struck by her beauty, apparent even under the patina of dust and exhaustion from her travels..

"I am General Hyacinthe- or was, if this country had respect for Lien any longer- and this is my captain, Georges Pontmercy," said Hyacinthe. He lifted his head so that the gold medal on his harness caught the light. "He is also a general and he is a baron! And he is the grandson of my first captain. What is the name of your hatchling?"

"I call her Cosette," said the woman, pausing in the middle of the road.

Hyacinthe put down his enormous head and blinked a pupil the side of a full-sized mirror directly in front of Cosette and her mother. "Indeed! That is a pretty name. And what, pray, is your name?"

Cautiously: "Fantine."

"Ah, that is prettier! I see your hatchling sleeps. Oh, I fear I have awoken her."

The child stirred. It was clear Cosette had recently gotten over some bad illness, or else a state of poverty so severe that it made Georges wish to weep, and that Fantine had done her best to hide this fact. Fantine's gown was well tailored but plain and of cheap cotton; Cosette was wrapped in velvet, which Georges ventured to guess came from an old gown of Fantine's. When Cosette squirmed in Fantine's arms, one could see the pretty confection of muslin and ribbons under the velvet wrap. But Cosette herself had a sickly look, her light brown hair thin and scraggling over a pinched face. The only link between this sad creature, whose look and fretful gestures seemed to express only fear, and blonde beauty evidently her mother was the shared color of their eyes. Two sets of blue eyes rested on Hyacinthe, and two sets turned their frightened gazes to Georges.

He felt his shyness creep upon him again. He looked away and rubbed his scar self-consciously. Georges felt it necessary to speak, but had no idea what he ought to say.

"Hello," said Hyacinthe eagerly. "You are Cosette, are you not?"

Cosette looked over at Hyacinthe and then buried her face against Fantine's neck.

"She is shy," said Fantine, unnecessarily.

"I am too," said Georges. "But you need not fear Hyacinthe. He is big, but he is gentle. He watches over all the eggs at the breeding ground at Vernon." This and Georges's smile was enough to make Cosette look fearfully over at Hyacinthe again.

"I wish I had a treat to give you," said Hyacinthe wistfully. "Ah! I know. Georges, look in your book! Have we the capitol to get her one?"

Georges pulled a small leather notebook from the pocket of his red and black coat. "Yes, my dear, certainly. Madame, will you-" then growing somewhat embarrassed and looking at the book "-that is, if it does not delay your journey too much-"

"Madame Fantine," interrupted Hyacinthe. "I should like to play with your hatchling, if you will allow it, but she seems tired. Perhaps she will be more amenable after she has eaten?"

"I have no bread," said Fantine, helplessly.

"Oh but we wish to get her some!" said Hyacinthe brightly. "We are going to Monsieur Shang's, I hope you will accompany us."

"I could not impose-"

"It is no imposition!"

"I pray you will allow us this," said Georges, though he felt greatly embarrassed. He lowered his voice so Hyacinthe could not hear. "I cannot afford many treats for Hyacinthe but this I can. And..." He rubbed his scar. "The truth is, we are too sad to be left to ourselves."

"Oh?" Fantine eyed him warily.

Georges could not unburden himself. Not before a stranger. He merely looked away.

Fantine looked at the small parcel she had dropped some metres back and ventured, "Is it on the way to Paris? Though I recall we passed an eating house with an Incan dragon before it-"

Cosette shifted in her arms and murmured something about bread. Fantine said, immediately, "Yes, then, if it will not inconvenience you."

Hyacinthe sat down and stretched out his front paw. "Ride with Georges on my back. It will be easier."

Fantine shrunk back, still clutching her child. "I- no, thank you. We will walk."

Georges offered to walk with her and she nodded. Hyacinthe was tired and took very slow steps, pausing often, but this meant Georges and Fantine did not have to rush. They did not speak at first. Georges was self-conscious. Cosette was asleep. Fantine was weary. She stopped only to pick up her small parcel. Georges offered to carry it, and Fantine accepted this with a murmur.

"I- ah- have you come very far?" asked Georges.

Fantine looked at him warily. "Montreuil-sur-mer."

"You have walked all the way from Montreuil-sur-mer?" asked Georges, in some alarm. "You must be very tired, Madame."

She lifted a shoulder, a lower class gesture that somehow managed to convey both cynicism and exhaustion, in equal parts.

They soon came upon Monsieur Shang's restaurant. This was more a series of small pavilions about a central kitchen than an ordinary restaurant. The first pavilion was occupied by a Yunanqui, a middleweight Incan dragon, with green and purple scales that looked more like feathers. She raised her head from a cauldron of roast frog soup with an inquisitive air. Hyacinthe nodded his enormous head and took the pavilion across from her, and the Incan dragon went back to her meal.

Hyacinthe heaved himself gratefully onto the heated stones and sprawled out, his four legs akimbo, his head facing the central kitchen. A handful of Chinese and Incan and French servers in black robes scurried out with a table and cushions, which they placed near one of the pillars. It pleased Georges to see that they recalled Hyacinthe was deaf in his left ear, for they chose the pillar on Hyacinthe's right. One of the Chinese men offered Georges a menu and another held up a large slate before Hyacithe's nose.

"I will have a number six with one cow. What will your hatchling have, Madame Fantine?"

Fantine had sat on the cushion, legs folder under her, had allowed her cloak to be hung on a hook on the pillar (though she refused to remove her cap) and had accepted the cup of green tea, offered her, but she looked blankly at the menu.

"Would you- would you like me to order for you?" asked Georges. "Not many have dined with dragons-"

"I would be grateful."

They ate first, as Hyacinthe's cow was roasted, taking meat and vegetables from a few central bowls and eating these portions over bowls of rice or with flaky slices of bread. Everything that Fantine took, she put in front of Cosette, who sat on her lap. If Cosette ate it, Fantine was inclined to do without, until Georges noticed. Then he left untouched the dishes Fantine seemed to like, declared he would live exclusively on eggplant if he could, and ate the reslishes Cosette ignored.

"It- ah." Georges cleared his throat. "What- if it is not too bold, what made you leave... have you family along this road you mean to visit?"

"I have no family but Cosette." Fantine smoothed the hair off of Cosette's forehead. Full, Cosette drowsed again, her head resting on the table.

"Euh. What- you have left Montreuil-sur-mer..."

"There is no work in Montreuil-sur-mer," replied Fantine. She pressed her lips together.

Georges floundered for another topic.

Eventually, Fantine said, "Is it true one Chanson-de-Guerre is much like another?"

"They are our most common breed."

Fantine looked away.

"You have had dealings with dragons?"

Fantine was silent for several minutes. Georges watched Hyacinthe eat his porridge with relish. He always wondered how Hyacinthe could be so delighted with rice porridge, even though the Grand Chevalier had been eating little more than soups and porridge for years. The fighting and starvation rations of the Russian campaign had caused Hyacinthe to lose several of his teeth and shattered several more. Georges stopped himself from touching his scar, but thought to himself, 'What an ugly old pair we are!'

Almost at random, Fantine said. "The- the factory in Montreuil-sur-mer shut down. We made jet beads, but the dragon who delivered to China for us, where the beads were made into jewelry- he was arrested. He had been pretending to be another dragon than he was. Captain Javert told us all that one Chanson-de-Guerre was much the same as another, which is why he was not spotted until recently, but this was- our good Madeleine was part of Madame Lien's breeding program and was a mix and not meant to- but he was wanted for escaping his breeding grounds and stealing cows and- and well! We relied too much on him. There is no factory any longer, there is no work any longer."

Georges wished there was more he could do than give Fantine and Cosette a meal. "Perhaps you will allow us to take you wherever it is you wish to go."

"I am going to Paris to look for work," said Fantine, unwillingly. "The breeding grounds at Vernon are in the opposite direction."

"I was injured very badly at Waterloo," said Hyacinthe, raising his head from his giant trough, "but I could easily carry two little slips of humans like you and Cosette to Paris. But perhaps you would care to come to Vernon instead?"

"Is there work at Vernon?" Fantine glanced down at Cosette, still sleeping, "And- that is, work I could do while still looking after Cosette."

"Yes, and more healthful air," opined Georges, albeit timidly. "Aviators and dragons have fallen out of favor since Waterloo. There is always more work than- than there are people to do the work."

"Hm," said Fantine.

The Incan dragon was watching this with interest, and called to Hyacinthe. "My respected elder, will you come share this ice with me?"

Hyacinthe dragged himself over. "Yes, and gladly, but you must call me Hyacinthe."

"I am Cusi."

They made their reverences, as a small army of waiters, and a little courier-weight dragon, pushed a bowl the size of a wagon towards them. Hyacinthe darted out a forked tongue and said, pleased, "Plum! I recall this was General Lien's favorite dessert. Did you know, after the hatching of the Emperor's egg, she had a banquet for all the officers? It was a great honor to dine with her."

"Oh I came to Paris in the Sapa Inca's train, with my detachment of the army, and saw her once!" said Cusi, eagerly. "What a grand dame! And so good to our Empress."

They chatted over how much they liked Lien (a common topic for any dragon within the French or Incan Empires) until the servers disappeared back into the kitchen.

Cusi cleared her throat significantly.

"Yes?"

"We are not allowed to pick up humans on the road, even if they do not belong to anyone," murmured Cusi, in a questioning tone.

"Ah yes, that is right," said Hyacinthe, a little uncomfortably. He buried his head into the plum ice, rooting for the fruits. They were little more on his tongue than the sprinkled sugar on top of a brioche was to a human, but Hyacinthe still enjoyed the little bursts of flavor.

The Incan dragon shook herself out, the silver hoops in her wings clattering. "Well, I cannot blame you. It is a silly rule when you have only the one human."

"I am so glad you agree," said Hyacinthe, much relieved.


End file.
